


Take Me Alive

by Trisdani



Series: fundywastaken [4]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: :), M/M, Paradise Found, better off as lovers and not the other way around, fundywastaken my doods, omfg obama, paper bag dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:55:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27538732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trisdani/pseuds/Trisdani
Summary: “I find it hilarious that you think that a wall can keep me from running back to you.”in which they are running out of fake excuses to say when they want to see each other and are literally just breaking into their homes now.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Floris | Fundy, Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy
Series: fundywastaken [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004088
Comments: 56
Kudos: 486





	1. an accidental assassination attempt

“Hey, Tubbo,” Tommy laughed, pointing his crossbow out over tall L’manberg walls. “Watch this!”

Fundy spotted as the two teens shot the arrows over the dark and looming walls of their nation. It was a hit or miss of the sorts. He recognized their job as sorting out the faulty weapons from the capable. You can never be too prepared for war, Wilbur always said.

“Fuck!” a faraway voice shouted. He peered over at the two who appeared unarmed and also alarmed by the shout. Sharing a glance, they ran towards the ladders, climbing up in a silent anticipation to peek over the wall and witness whatever misfire they just caused.

Tubbo was the first to stumble towards the ledge, looking over and freezing at the sight. “Tommy, wait—“ but the younger showed no halt when he followed his friend. His eyes widened and he glanced back at Fundy who had just finished his climb up. “Fundy, you can’t tell Wilbur,” Tubbo said, shaking his head.

Confusion was a familiar feeling the elder felt whenever interacting with those two, but as he looked down at the unconscious figure that laid still in a crippled form, he fought back a gasp. From the dark green hood that could blend into almost any forest environment, to the black mud-caked boots. He didn’t need to turn the outsider's body over to see the stark white mask that hid his features. It was all too familiar to the L’manbergians.

“If no one saw us shoot him, then we shouldn’t fear a retaliation,” Tommy said, backing away. He tossed the crossbow over to the pile of defective ones. “I say we dump his body in the lake. Say he died from drowning so even he doesn’t believe we did anything.”

Tubbo nodded along, “or we can leave him outside and wait to be attacked by mobs,” he added, “seems more probable than drowning.”

“Stop it right there,” Fundy interrupted. “You guys are just going to wait for him to die and respawn?” The teens looked at one another and back at Fundy, nodding synch. 

“If there’s any mention of Tommy in the death log when he respawns, then Wilbur will probably murder him before the SMP does,” Tubbo said, a serious tone contradicting his words. “I say waiting for a zombie to get him is our best option.”

Fundy sighed, “I understand.” He looked up at the sky which was still burning bright. “Nightfall won’t be for a while, if we drag him to the forest then maybe a skeleton could get a shot or two on him. Waiting could risk him waking up and fighting an arrow in his side.”

And it was weird for Fundy when he carried the body of an enemy in his arms. God forgive him for even being this close to the man that had committed slaughter on his people— his own father! But in this moment where the man was limp and there was no cocky grin that radiated the confidence of victory, there was no taunting little head tilt. In this moment, there was just a man that got knocked out from an arrow. A man that— if you look at it the right way— was asleep and looked so peaceful, despite only being able to see only the bottom portions of his face. 

A small knot in his chest started to form. Setting him against a tree with the help of the two teens, making the surrounding area appear as a murder scene. How could he feel a little guilty for leaving this man to get killed? Oh, if only his father could hear him now, having mercy on the enemy, now that’s a good joke.

But as soon the sun dripped down and the monsters began to lurk, Fundy watched as the enemy still laid dormant, propped against the tree. It wouldn't be a crime to help someone, would it? Disregarding the fact that the man was the definite antichrist of L’manberg, he was still human. Maybe Fundy could ignore the whole evil tyrant thing for a moment and help him… 

_Maybe if he…_

Dream blinked. His head was ringing and he couldn’t be bothered to take a glance at his surroundings. He groaned as he tried to sit up. Realizing that both his hands were stuck over his head. He pulled them forward but felt the resistance of something holding them back. He looked down and saw a wrap of bandages circling his abdomen. Easy to assume that he got injured but he can’t remember how.

He glanced all around the room. Unfamiliar. The bed wasn’t his. The chest wasn’t his. The whole room was everything but his. He continued to observe everything until he heard a door creak open. He turned his head to see the face of a stranger, their hands held a dark red cloth, and stopped in surprise. 

Now he took this as a moment to panic. 

He opened his mouth but was almost immediately shut up. “Shh!” A finger was pushed against his lips. The lack of mask covering his face was now prominent as he suddenly felt exposed. His eyes diverted to the man that leaned quietly beside the bed. He looked familiar but his brain couldn’t rack up a name that matched. Nothing about him screamed “threat” so maybe he should be fine.

“Where am I?” He hissed quietly. His head was sore and his wrists were tied to the bedpost. If he wasn’t a wildly feared dictator, then he would’ve assumed something had occurred during the past night.

“My home, but you need to be quiet or they’ll kill you,” the man replied harshly. Okay, so not what he thinks. He opened his mouth to reply back but the sudden feeling of the stranger’s cool hands caught him by surprise. He remained quiet as the ginger carefully unraveled the set of bandages around him. It seemed almost never ending and all he wanted to know was, what was going on?

The bandages now completely unraveled, revealed his bare chest but he didn’t see much but a small scar on his side. He looked up quizzically.

“You got shot and I carried you back here to heal you,” he answered. The man reaching out and touching the new scar branded on his skin. “Sorry about that,” he said, “there’s only so much I know how to do with a regeneration potion.” Dream stared at the scar only a moment before a thud hit him.

“Your mask, hoodie, and weapons are in there,” he said, tossing the bandages and cloth to the side and unrolling his sleeves back down to his wrists. “When you leave you can’t have any of that out or on you or someone will pull a sword to your throat.”

Dream rolled his eyes as the stranger started to untie his wrists. “Let me ask again, where am I? And who the hell are you?”

The stranger paused, a rather raw emotion flashed behind his eyes, one that Dream had seen a million times before. “I-“ he started, but stopped. Dream didn’t need to know why he was hesitant, the guy mentioned before, people would kill him if he was seen in their land. Fear. That was always the first initial reaction when someone saw his mask, but now without, he felt a bit offended that some stranger would think of him as the monster that he had portrayed himself to be.

“Fundy!” A voice called from below them, probably a few floors down. The stranger’s head snapped towards the door. Dream sent him a confused stare. That name definitely sounded familiar, but where had he heard it before?

“Coming, father!” The stranger, Fundy, shouted back. He finished untying the ropes, the loud steps of whoever had entered grew louder as they made their way up the stairs. Fundy cursed as he ran over to a chair and grabbed the coat that laid over it. That familiar navy blue coat that Dream had once fought against… 

It wasn’t until the newcomer had fully made it up to the floor and took in the sight of the clearly disheveled, rather unprepared, Fundy and half undressed Dream laying in the bed. “Did I interrupt something?” Their cheeks grew red and the stern look quickly broke as they laughed awkwardly, looking over at Fundy in confusion. 

Fundy looked between the newcomer and Dream quickly, a mix of shock and horror taking turns on his face. “No, Wilbur, I- uh. Can we take this outside please?” His eyes begging for an escape as he couldn’t decide how many bad ways this could be interpreted. 

Wilbur. Wilbur Soot. General Soot. If Dream wasn’t already scared from the lack of familiarity around him, then he’d be shitting himself when he realized he woke up in L’manberg, not even including the fact that he was in the Generals son’s house.

Wilbur casted a side eye at Dream and to the ropes that lay unraveled by the bedposts. “Yes, I do believe that is a good idea.” Wilbur stepped out, giving Fundy a moment to fully prepare himself. 

Fundy shoved a shirt in Dream’s face. “Put it on,” he said, then hurrying him out of the room, past Wilbur who remained painfully silent. “You go straight out, take a left at the caravan and you should find your way out just fine.” He pushed him out, letting him stumble a bit and adjust to the morning sunlight before slamming the door closed.

Fundy let out an exhale, only hoping that Dream could make it out of the nation without being killed or giving himself away. Maybe that small knot in his chest began to grow, but not from guilt, maybe something more. He looked up at his father who still stood at the stairs, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes wide. “So, uh,” he cleared his throat, “we don’t need to… y’know— have the talk about—“

“No, absolutely not,” Fundy said, fear and embarrassment telling him to quickly shut down the conversation. 

“Okay, great…” Wilbur trailed off. Fundy going through multiple sets of dialogue wondering where on earth this conversation could land him. A dungeon would be a weak punishment for aiding their enemy. Maybe leaving him out in the Nether with no food. 

“you’re dating, I see!” Wilbur said at last. Definitely the one of the later options going through Fundy’s head.

With the relief of feeling like he had just dodged the arrow that Tommy had shot only a day before, he sighed at the rather fatherly side coming out of his dad. “Please spare anything you're about to say and tell me the reason why you’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new story who dis?


	2. to know who you are not

Fundy walked through the forest, just outside the walls of L’manburg, had he let the nerves from the previous war meeting exit his system. It was always the same old– same old. Just a change from the constant back and forth of fight or flight. But it always had to be the same. From as far as he could remember, Wilbur was more focused on raising his own nation rather than his own son. 

He kicked a stone and watched it skid across the grass, the bright green grass. The type of green that matched so well with Dream’s hood– a master of stealth. He was already severely aware of how he nearly jeopardized all their plans. He took another step— the moment where he was completely out of sight from L’manbergs walls— and felt a hand smack itself right over his mouth and drag him deeper into the forest. 

His first reaction was to scream and panic, but as he caught a glimpse of that green hood and shimmering axe, he already knew that there was no point in fighting since he was gonna die anyways.

In a stupid conclusion, Fundy bit the hand covering his mouth. His attacker let out a yelp of surprise and pulled his hand away. Kicking Fundy down to the ground and pinning his chest down with his foot. Now, Fundy actually had a chance to stare into the dead expressionless mask.

A whole mantra of, “there’s a real person under the mask,” played on rewind in Fundy’s mind. Maybe if he closed his eyes then he wouldn’t have to stare into those black dots that were considered eyes.

“Look at me,” Dream commanded, but an involuntary snort came from the ginger, stopping the ruler from his almost intimidating speech. “Why are you laughing at me?” He questioned.

“Look at me,” Fundy mocked, snickering to himself some more. If he can’t physically beat this wannabe intimidating opponent, then the mental game is what he would have to play. “How’s your boo boo?” he asked, poking the side of Dreams stomach to which he winced in response. 

“I- okay, stop poking me.” Dream gripped Fundy’s hand to bring him to a stop, but the small gesture only seemed to fuel the L’manbergian even more. “Please, just tell me your title and why you decided to kidnap me,” he sighed, pinching his nose.

Fundy thought for a moment, debating whether the full truth would cost him his life or not. “Well, you were laid unconscious outside with an arrow struck through your side. I know our limited lives are quite precious at this time,” he looked at Dream, “being in a war in all…”

“And your title?” Dream pressed more pressure over Fundy’s chest.

Fundy looked off to stare at the green grass, somehow that was a more amusing sight than the dark and expressionless eyes of the mask. “Fundy, son of General Soot,” he answered.

Dream nodded and furrowed his eyebrows, unknowingly to the ginger. He sharply took in a breath. “Alright, and is this a trap?”

“No,”

He cocked his head to the side. “Good, because it would be rather stupid on your side to cast someone as important as you into such a dangerous ploy— maybe I can take you? Lock you in our deepest dungeons and have your precious father come crawling to us in a weathered beaten mess, prepared to surrender anything it takes to get his son back?” He slid his axe out of his inventory, throwing it dangerous close to the tip of Fundy's chin. “Depending on how easy you comply, I’ll be sure to bring you a pillow…”

Fundy bit his lip as he stared at the pink ones talking to him. Oblivious as he was to whatever the other man was saying to him, his eyes managed to mentally pry that mask off the hooded man's face and see the person that was unconscious on his bed only a mere five hours ago. He traveled his stare down and almost choked when he saw that Dream was still in the shirt he threw at him. His shirt. “Why do you wear a mask?” Fundy asked, unintentionally interrupting the blond.

Dream paused, “...excuse me?”

Fundy looked back up, eyes wide with a blush escaping to his cheeks. “Oh, sorry if that’s personal. Just a question— you can go back to your monologuing.” He looked around, “by the way, no need to rush, but I need to be back within the walls by sundown.”

Dream stood still for a moment or two. A long moment or two. Fundy was sure that he fucked something up and that in any moment in due time, the axe would sever his head from the rest of his body in one clean swing. 

But that is not what happened. Dream pulled the weapon away from Fundy’s chin, not putting it in his inventory, but still in his grasp. “You’re not scared of me,” he said in one breath of realization. “Do you think this is a game?”

“I think that there’s nothing to be scared of in accordance to you,” Fundy said, resting his head back on the ground.. Maybe he does think this is a game. And is it a crime to feel tempted to play?

Finally, Dream tucked his weapon back into his inventory. Releasing his grip from Fundy’s wrist and backing away, he looked at him with a curious glance. “So your intentions…” he questioned, “you only healed my arrow wound?” 

Fundy nodded, noticing the softer tone that overtook his enemies' voice. 

“You’re from l’manberg and you helped me,” Dream laughed to himself, but suddenly frowned. “You’re also Wilbur’s son.”

“You’re speaking your thoughts out loud here,” Fundy said, “I’m not sure if that is intentional or…” Dream pushed his hand back over Fundy’s mouth.

“I despise your country’s existence, Fundy,” the blond said. Fundy licked the others hand, causing him to pull it back off his mouth and wipe it on his hoodie. 

“And my father despises everything you stand for, Dream,” the ginger said. 

They stared at one another for a moment. “And are you not your father?” Dream questioned.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Fundy smirked.

Dream opened his mouth to say something but shut it quickly. He took a few more steps back, taking a deep breath, he looked at Fundy who still laid on the ground, though he wasn’t pinned down anymore. Shortly, he sent a small single wave and disappeared within the entanglement of trees.

And Fundy watched on with the brief realization of what he had just done. A mistake? He’ll have to wait and see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the most I’ve written in weeks h o l y m o l y


	3. ass of u and me

“Oh, thank gods he’s alive,” a sigh of relief left the brunet’s mouth. Dream dropped his axe and inventory onto the table and collapsed onto the ground. A long and tired groan escaping him. Sapnap kicked his friend’s shoe, inspecting the pained man. “Well, at least I think he was.”

The other walked into the room, looking down at the blond who just laid still. “Maybe he’s broken?” He proposed. “Did someone stay up late last night?”

“Shut up,” Dream whined. 

Sapnap joined in. “Kids these days with their crazy schedules.” He tilted his head and started laughing, pulling George over to him. “Dream, please be honest here. Where the fuck were you?”

The one in question sat up, rubbing his face beneath the mask. “I was out and I guess a skeleton caught me off guard, okay?”

“You got shot?” George asked. “Where? And why are you just now coming home? You should’ve came back as soon as that happened, we can heal you here.”

“Guys, it’s fine—“

“Did you lose a life?” Sapnap interjected. George shut up and looked to Dream with the same curious stare. “You do know that you will eventually run out someday, right?”

Dream straightened his mask and stood back up. “I’m aware, and no, I didn’t die. Someone took me in for the night and fixed up the wound. I’m fine now, and home alive.”

“Who took you in?” George asked.

So many questions and so many answers that Dream himself still had to absorb into thought. He smiled. “A wandering villager, I passed out and they dragged me to their camp. Stranger’s luck I guess,” he lied.

His two friends didn’t seem convinced, but they let the topic drift in the air for a moment or two before continuing onto their planned schedule. Dream sighed and went over to his chest to sort out his inventory. Everything was in a disorganized mess thanks to that hybrid.

The general's son, what a confusing character he was. Dream had assumed that there was another plan beneath the front perception of things, but he was scared that he could tell Fundy was telling the truth. Why or— What could he gain from fixing an arrow wound? Trust, perhaps? Should’ve left him to die so his country could possibly live another day longer in their false hopes.

He lifted up his hoodie, pausing when feeling the hem of the shirt underneath. Returning it would be the respectful thing to do, wouldn't it? But there holds the question of when Dream ever held respect for L’manburg— for General Wilbur Soot. Admittedly, he’d rather keep his distance from the unstable nation at the moment.

“Dream!” He jumped from the call. He turned back to his doorway, to which Sapnap was leaning against the frame. “I’m going hunting, is there anything you want specifically for dinner?”

Dream shook his head and dismissed him, before looking back at the small scar of where the arrow entered. His fingers paused as they hovered over it and he thought for a moment or two. Better left covered, he decided.

***  
“Fundy, I feel like we should talk.” Fundy shifted his gaze to his father running up to him. His uniform jacket was slung over his shoulder and his glasses were shifted to the tip of his nose. “About this morning…”

An inevitable conversation, really. But did he feel like engaging in it? No. “I don’t think we really need to talk about,” Fundy dismissed, walking ahead but Wilbur only followed. 

“Sorry if I’m making this awkward for you, but I’m curious,” the leader pried. “I have plenty of questions.”

“Well I’m sure I don’t have the answers you want.” Fundy stopped at the entryway to his home, looking at Wilbur.

“Who is he?” His father asked. 

Oh how funny and equally horrifying it would be if he told him the real identity of the man that he carried into their walls.

“A guy,” Fundy settled.

“Very specific, when will I meet him properly.”

Fundy scoffed. “You won’t. It was just a one time thing. He’s long gone by now.”

“I thought I taught you how to be a gentleman. You can’t tell me you did a one nighter and kick him out early in the morning.”

Fundy dragged a tired hand through his red hair. “Father, I am not discussing these types of things with you. That man and I didn’t have sex. You just walked in at the wrong time. Okay?”

“No, Fundy, it’s fine, really!” Wilbur backed off. “I was your age once. I know how things go. Your mother and I once—“

“Wilbur.”

“Right, you don’t want to hear that,” Wilbur stopped. “Where is he from? And if you say Dream Smp, you should’ve left him to–“

“He’s my uh… friend,” Fundy desperately cut him off. “An old old friend. And he lives beyond the Dream Smp. In one of those villages across the sea. He only passed by for help.”

Wilburs once curious expression then turned to one of discomfort. “I really believed I taught you to be a gentleman, Fundy.”

“Oh gods, I’m going inside,” Fundy groaned. He pushed Wilbur away from the door. “I’m not talking to you until you get your mind out of the swamp.”

“Then talk to me more! I’m sorry that I only assumed you did the dirty by assessing with the few context clues I have!”

Fundy didn’t respond, too caught up at the sight of a person standing in the darkest corner of the room.

“I’ll see you at dinner, son,” Wilbur continued on. “I’ll drop the subject, I get it.” And the sound of footsteps faded.

Fundy had his back flat against the door as he looked at that same white mask. The one he dragged through L’manburg and healed just the previous night. The one that tackled him and held an axe to his throat just only a few hours ago. 

Dream stepped towards the center of the room. He opened his mouth, and Fundy only slightly had the urge to yell and pray that Wilbur wasn’t already too far gone. But Dream stood there, still. His ace strapped to his back and he held a hand up to his mouth in thought. Lifting his eyes up at once towards Fundy. 

“Why didn’t you kill me?”


End file.
